Labyrinth Games
by blackace20
Summary: Set during the 68th Hunger Games and follows District Eight male tribute Jasper Cozine. The terrain in the Hunger Games is wild and new to the event, featuring a large maze...
1. Chapter 1

**Labyrinth Games**

-*-

**Part I**

**The Beginning**

-*-

"The District Eight tribute for the 68th Hunger Games is… Jasper Cozine!"

At first you don't know what hit you. You're still oblivious to what's going on around you and all the eyes now glooming at you with empathy. Then the slightest light shines in and you become faintly aware of what has happened. You're now just among the stars, floating in perpetual darkness blissfully, yet nullifying the last threads of sanity from breaking. But eventually your state of joyous and ignorant nirvana wears off and you come crashing down. Now you're aware of your surroundings but still denying what you heard.

Then comes to you like, like uh… Like a freight train. You need to get away. You need to distance yourself as far away as possible. You tell yourself this is just a hell of a nightmare and you're going to wake up. But you're not. This is reality, no dream, and you need to walk the mile and face the executioner's axe. It's over now; your death sentence is set.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I should start previously this day…

-*-

Reaping Day, the day when all hell breaks loose. I wake up from a nightmare of Reaping Days past, knowing that all those gruesome duels could be me. Of course it was highly doubtful, yet somewhere buried in a deep crevice you know it's possible. Everything is possible.

The pungent smell of cracking paint filled my nostrils as I got up. I lifted the patch work quilt off my sweaty body and stood up. I waved my arms in the air to stretch any morning pains. I bent over and grabbed my toes feeling the satisfying _crack_ of cartilage. I tried everything just to flush the thought of Reaping Day out.

Sounds drifted in my room like sudden rain storm. A conversation could be heard only to dry up in the blink of an eye. That was Reaping Day for you, joyous yet indefinitely morbid.

It wasn't even my generations fault. We did not fight in a war. We did not fan the flames of rebellion and discontent. But we still pay for it. Yet it has obviously since there is barely any mention of anarchy. I guess with a show of power then we just shut out mouths and fall suit in line. With that attempt at rebellion we signed a contract that'll be paid in full until time runs out.

I walked over to the door and placed my hand on the grubby dull handle. Mid action I stopped my fingers and lowered my head to the chipped wood. I didn't have to take this. I could simply walk away now and leave this behind. This piss poor excuse for a government could be a distant memory; all I have to do is stay in my room.

Yet I continued.

There she was. My mother, her eyes fixed upon the bowl and whisk in her hand. The slight peach color on her tan skin accented her black hair that was graying at the frays of certain strands of hair perfectly in the hazy shadows of early morning. She looked up, half heartedly smiling, trying not to think of the day ahead.

"Hello Jasper," she half-whispered, you could tell the friendliness in her voice was not exactly sincere.

"Hello mother, I said and took a seat at the table.

A metallic clang sounded as my mother dropped a plate of rolls in front of me. I stared at them, becoming increasingly aware of how hungry I was. I pinched the roll tightly in my fingers and watched a stream of butter roll out and drip onto the plate. I took a bite, the warm flavors filling me with delight. I often had rolls for breakfast, but for some reason today seemed extra special.

I guess I was too ravenous to realize the voice trying to reach me from across the table until I felt the sharp _smack!_ on my hand.

"Ouch!" I barked, looking up to see who hit me.

My older brother Rone sat at the other end of the table, the sort of twisted smile was painted on his face like always.

"Good morning brother," Rone yapped, over expressing the smile on his face and letting out a fiendish snicker.

"Did you smack me just to say that?" I squawked, now rubbing the irritated patch on my hand.

"Nope, I've got something else to say. Now Jasper, take a guess."

"I don't know; It's Reaping Day if that's anything."

"You got it, sort of. This is my first year of ineligibility. Don't worry, in two years you'll be ineligible too!"

"That was quite self centered, Rone. Don't you remember this is also Huard's first year?"

"That was not self centered."

"Rone, it was pretty self centered."

"Mother, was that self centered?"

Mother called back, "That was rather self centered Rone."

"You guys never agree with me…" moaned Rone.

"Because we're all out to get ya' Rone," stated mother as she dropped a plate of rolls in front of him. He shot her a look and then dug in.

Then my little brother Huard walked in. He had a haggard look on his face and a hand on his bushy hair with stray tails of hair curling out of his head. His eyes switched from to the dusty floor, to me, to mother, and finally back to the floor, now showing extra exasperation on how tired he was.

"Hello Huard," I said.

"Ughh… " he groaned and took a seat to the right of me.

I stared at Huard. I could feel complete sympathy for him. The first time you have to line up to see if you are unfortunate enough to compete in the Hunger Games is pure hell. You see the march of feet in front of you; you hear the echo and scuffle of feet from behind. You're caught in total disarray as you line up and you feel stranded. You're surrounded by thousands of faces, all grim and somber, yet you feel alone in a hungry tide that's dragging you out to sea. I wanted to say something to comfort him, but that would only upset him.

My mom tapped me on the shoulder snapping me out of my daydream. I turned around to see my mother clutching a piping hot plate of rolls and had that light smile on her face like she had.

"Jasper, could you take this out to your father. He woke up and went straight to the fields, skipping breakfast. He just always seems to be so filled with… angst on Reaping Day." I grabbed the plate and headed for the door.

As soon as I headed out the door I turned around to see our house. It was definitely not the definition of gorgeous, nor was it ramshackle. With a pretty descent standard of income and especially good one for farmers we had every corner of house at least in descent condition. Back when I was twelve and Rone was fourteen we were struggling to make ends meet and we each had probably had at least ten tesseraes out. Then we got lucky. One day when plowing the fields my father was plowing the fields we discovered oil. Oil was once called black gold, well now it should be called black platinum. It was the only thing that saved us.

I looked around the flat rolling land. I saw no sign of my father. I quickly ran to the side of my house and saw his silhouette out by an old scraggly tree.

As approached my father his features came into sight. He had his always sober face on, yet today it was solemn and somber. His leathery and dark skin seemed pale to in comparison of its natural shade. His low cut shirt just seemed to hang off him more than usual.

I walked up to him without him even realizing I was there, like he was in a trance. When I was about five feet from him he showed recognition by nodding his head.

"Hey dad, mother told me to bring this out to you," I said, holding out the plate.

"Thank you Jasper," he said, taking the plate. His lip curled up as he took a huge chunk out of the roll but he didn't show his usual satisfaction.

Father looked up at me, took a in a deep breath, and then started, "Jasper, did I ever tell you 'bout my brother?"

"Father, I know who Uncle Micah is. He even lives just down-"

"Not him Jasper! I once had another brother, his name was Abel. I was about fifteen, give or take a few years. Abel was twelve. He was chosen to compete in the twenty years ago to this day in the 48th Hunger Games. I should have volunteered for him! He was twelve! Twelve! He didn't even last two days!" I was beginning to be able to read my dad's mixture of sadness, distraught, and disgust like a book. He was nowhere near an emotional man, but this was bringing it out of him.

I looked down. I didn't want to see him like this, so weak. I didn't know what to say. Comforting wasn't my forte, especially when it came to parents. This was to say the least, awkward.

I finally came up with something. "Father, you remember Grey, don't you?"

He closed his eyes and pinched his lids, probably to cool himself down and nodded. He turned from a red color back to his regular shade.

"The 64th Hunger Games, four years ago. Grey and I were both only thirteen. He was chosen to go to the Hunger Games. He was a hilarious guy and book smart, but he wasn't built for the Hunger Games. Grey didn't even last thirty minutes."

"And that's why the Hunger Games are tough on me! That could be you or Huard, getting impaled, or stabbed, or… or… or starving! What a horrid government that makes the adolescence fight to the death for nothing. What a… what a… oh Jasper. I'm so sorry," my father stood up from under the tree and grabbed an old hat he had resting upon a branch. The old had had a long rim and stretched back and was rather long. My father had it with him all the time. He placed it on his head so that it tilted slightly foreword. "Well, I better get back to work. Thank you for the rolls," and with that he walked off.

I started to follow him to a tool shed, but then he turned around. "Jasper, I don't want you or any of your brothers working today. Just- just take the day off."

I didn't know what to do. Today was not the best day to meet with friends, if I did that conversation would be morbid. Usually when I had any other free time I had to work on the farm, which farms were what District Eight were known for. Our television was rarely used for things besides the Hunger Games. All I could think of was lay under the old scraggly tree. I lowered myself down and laid my head on the trunk.

The leaves of the tree showed great patterns of light on body, every dark shade showing the outline of what hung overhead. The knotted twisted roots protruded out of the ground like tombs looming over a grave yard, making it quite uncomfortable on my back.

I looked around, the fields of grain seemed to wave back and forth on the flat rolling land, all seeming to sing to me a silent lullaby. I closed my eyes just for a second. I quickly reopened them, feeling myself beginning to lull to sleep. But I couldn't fight it. I was exhausted. I was miserably exhausted. My sleep last night had been quite shallow. I just had to close my eyes, just for a moment. I needed to rest up because I had a big day ahead of me. I closed my eyes, yet I fell asleep, and stayed asleep for four hours.

-*-

I felt a jab at my right shoulder. I could not remember what happened or what day it was. My eyes flashed open in quick blinks.

_Blink._

I saw the fuzzy outline of a young boy, small physique.

_Blink._

I saw I was under a tree, a particularly ugly tree.

_Blink._

The boy was Huard. He has a nervous and concerned look on his face. His hand flicked in front of my face to check for any sort of recognition. Again he went in for a jab.

"Huard, I'm awake. You can… _hughhh… _stop that," I told Huard and rose to my feet. Huard's face was so contorted with worry wrinkles you would think he was sixty. He had on luxurious clothing.

It quickly came back to me that it was Reaping Day. I had forgotten that trouble, yet know it's returned.

"Jasper, come on! We've gotta leave in a half hour!"

I nodded my head to show I was awake enough to understand him. I placed my hand on the tree trunk and let out a yawn, then began to walk to the house.

My mother greeted me as soon as I walked in the door with a fistful of crumpled clothing and the phrase, "Put it on." The clothes were nice, yet standard for special occasions like this. They were probably hand-me-downs from Rone. I slipped into a bathroom and changed. Quickly I observed myself in the mirror. They were baggy on me, but they'd do just fine.

I stepped out the door. Everything seemed somewhat regular, yet the mood was much darker. My mother was scolding Rone for god knows what. Huard had a small conversation going with my dad. Yes, everything seemed perfectly in place, but that feeling of uneasiness remained.

Seeing that I was ready, my mother motioned us to the door and we all filed out.

-*-

The urban area of District Eight was actually quite beautiful. It was set up on a cross between two main roads with side roads and allies all along every the two roads. The outside on the outside were large and were the more important shops such as a department store, a grocery store, a hospital, the court house. The inside shops were the ones of shop owners with moderate money. At the very core were the rich shops and the town square with the most divine architecture and gardens I've ever seen. A lot of trees and gardens lined every street. Every brick seemed to just compliment just compliment every other brick in the town so that everything seemed to fit in seamlessly. Usually this was a happy place, but today it was grim.

When we entered the town my family got separated in the waves of the twelve thousand people that lived in District Eight. I slowly pushed and clawed my way to the town square where I silently signed in and took my place in a group of seventeen year olds, most of whom I recognized from school. Though there were thousands of people the area was eerily silent.

I turned around. Behind me I could see Huard, just as scared as I was the year I was eligible to be reaped. Every single twelve year old had that same ghastly look, all waiting somberly for what might happen.

The clock bell banged cacophonously politely telling anybody talking to shut up. At the very front was a large temporary stage adorned with festive decorations. In four seats at the front was the District Eight mayor who only god knows his name, the quite eccentric and generic escort Chike Pwitter, and the two tribute trainers Eugene Golightly and Cortona Surtax. They were the only two remaining Hunger Games champions, but we had another one who won in the first ten events. The fat and graying mayor of District Eight struggled to get up and began the story of Panem's history. It was no different from years past and it just fostered the tension.

Then the tribute trainers stood up to give short speeches. Eugene gave his first, taking more time then he should have. Eugene was often noted as one of the worst Hunger Games champions. He won about fifteen years ago and was in his thirties. He won because he stumbled upon a cave in a swampy terrain with a fresh pond and bushes that bared berries. The swamp water was poisoned and because of the lack of clean water all of the tributes got dehydrated and drank the water, setting up their demise. But not Eugene, he stayed in his cozy little cave and won just by pure luck, the stupid bastard. Cortona won honestly two years ago and was actually seventeen like me. Her golden hair looked radiant in the dim glow given off by the cameras. She kept her speech short, probably to keep on schedule knowing Eugene would be a glory hog.

Chike stepped up to the podium. She prodded the microphone a few time and cleared her throat. Her long blonde hair was highlighted with blue streaks. I wonder why anyone even does anything like that! She begins with a common opening line in her thick capital voice, "Happy Hunger Games and may the odds ever be in your favor!"

She smacked her lips to make a _pop _noise. Then she quickly pursed at us, shielding herself so the cameras wouldn't see. This was her first year and she was probably expecting more.

"Okay ladies; let's get this show on the road!" She walked over to the girl's large glass bowl with small paper slips in it. She dug her hand deep in there and came up with a paper slip.

There was an uncomfortable silence following her hand emerging with the slip. To the side of me a man whispered, "Now whose day will she ruin?"

You didn't have to wait. Immediately after Chike yelled, "June Cox!"

If someone had to go June probably would have been my choice. She was an obnoxious brat and eighteen, so she lived at least for a bit. I saw her march up to the stage, yet I felt no sympathy.

"Any volunteers?" Nobody stepped up for June. I was not surprised. "Well hooray for our newest tribute. June we wish you luck!" There was a scramble on stage as Chike raced over to the men's bowl. Somewhere in that bowl was my name, somewhere in there was my death sentence. I just had to wait nervously of what might happen. Her fingers dropped in the bowl and trapped a slip against the glass wall. She plucked it out and put in front of her face. "And the District Eight tribute for the 68th Hunger Games is," she unfolded the piece of paper. At the time everything seemed to be perfectly normal for a Reaping Day, yet right then something went horribly wrong.

"Jasper Cozine!"

**Author's note: I proof read it once, but I'm sure I missed some stuff. I'll go back later and fix it. And remember, please review. =)**

**P.S. I just realized I don't think the proper term is 'Reaping Day.' It's the reaping or Hunger Games. Just let that slide for nowand if it really isn't the proper term I'll Fix it. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Labyrinth Games**

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**Chapter Two**

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**Author's Note: I realized I didn't say this in the first chapter so I'll say it now. I do not own the Hunger Games. I do however own nearly all of the characters in this fic. Some of the bad grammar while speaking is intended (that doesn't mean I didn't mess up though ;).)**

-*-

That was it. My fate was set. What followed was the calm before the storm, that awkward and sullen silence that followed something of immense and life changing, or in this instance life ending.

When it happened to someone else you were sympathetic, when it happened to you… you were scared. I could feel myself quaking under all of those sad, sad eyes. I wanted to run away. I looked right, I looked left, and then I doubled back. There was no escape in sight, my fate was set.

I began the famed walk to the stage. I was very close, yet it felt like miles. My feet ached as I stepped onto stage, and I turned to face the crowd. Their faces were all adorned depressingly surrealistic smiles. I smiled back and in my mind I knew that the capitol wanted this to be a joyous time, I had to make it look like one. It didn't matter how sad I felt on the inside, all I had to do is smile and everything would be alright.

The mayor once again stands up and rubs a grubby finger on his moustache. He tapped his foot, yet I believe I was the only one who heard it, and began the awfully dreadful declaration that was the treaty of treason. It was so absolutely boring nearly everyone had fallen asleep. Since everyone was basically dead I took advantage of the situation and bent over and rub my eyes, letting a few tears fall out. I could feel June's searing eyes burning into the back of my head. I stood up straight and looked straight at her with my red puffy eyes. She had somewhat of a snickering look and a crooked smile buried under a few tears. Even in a tragic situation that she should, no is, be up by she still mocked me. I snorted a quick puff of air out of my left nostril and mouthed the words _'Stupid bitch.'_ She showed no change in emotion. She really wasn't the brightest person in the world.

The speech ended in a dreary fashion and then the anthem stared its proud yet pretentiousness beat. At that very moment I realized that this was my last bit freedom. From here on out I would always be accompanied by someone. Those final few seconds of the anthem I cherished in an ecstatic and mirthful fashion, they were probably to be my last on my own.

But with one last triumphant roar, the anthem ended. The crowd nonchalantly began to disperse, acting as if two teenagers were not just convicted, and the peacekeepers arrived to whisk me away for my final contact with my loved ones. I marched to the court house as though I was being transferred between prisons. There was really no escape that I could tell. I knew I just had to love every last drop of life remaining until the games began.

The court house was lavishly adorned with lush carpets and beautiful tile flooring. The room I was led to that had a long leather couch, a Panem flag, a table with a lamp on it, and, oh look, a box of tissues on the table. What a blow to the face that was.

My first guest was one of my friends, Keenan. He was a downright comedian, and probably wanted in first so he could do some sort of grim humor with me while I'm not broken down weeping. He sat down and looked at me with a mixture of helpless pity and almost a slight comedic quirk. He did make a few funny comments about me dying or all the blood I'll have to come across, and I did laugh, though I was forcing myself too. Ahh… morbid humor. On an occasion like this it was the only kind of humor, a much needed kind. But as he was leaving I realized I probably wouldn't laugh any time soon, genuine laughter or not.

As soon as Keenan left I heard him bang his fist on the wall and break down crying. Keenan always seems so happy and witty; I don't think I even realized that he could cry. I looked down at the table with the box of tissues on it. "Damn box of tissues," I whimpered aloud, taking one and wiping my eyes.

My entire family poured in next. My mother was crying with an awful attempt at covering it up, my father had tears in his eyes, Huard was crying his eyes, every so often getting out a gargled question to god about why he'd done this, and the normally chipper Rone looked shaken up.

My mother walked over to me and put her hand on my head. She looked at me and immediately fell apart. "Jasper, promise me you'll do your best to survive!" She was seemed distraught and overwhelmed.

"Mother, it's the Hunger Games. I-"

"Promise me!"

I could feel myself beginning to shake. "Y-yes, I promise." My mother shook her head up and down, showing that she was pleased with my decision. Sobbing, she stepped behind my father.

Huard stepped forward, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his head snuggly into my chest. "Jasper! Jasper, no, you can't leave! Jasper, please stay!"

More tears began to roll down my eyes. "I… I can't little buddy. I have to… _go!_" My voice cracked on the last word. I was losing it.

Huard kept embracing me and yelling out 'no!' I pushed him off me and grabbed another two tissues, cursing at the box. Rone didn't make a move to talk to me. He was just getting paler and paler, realizing this was reality. He knew that if he broke down, everyone else would. He left, along with my mother and the terribly dismal Huard. I almost wanted to force Rone to talk, because when I'm dead and gone he'll regret not getting his final words in. He'll wish he had spent a few more moments with me, and he'll feel all of this was his fault. Like my father.

As soon as I thought that I looked up and realized he was still in the room. He looked at me somberly; this was probably bringing back thoughts of his brother. He took a seat next to me on the couch and said idly yet sadly, "What a… beautiful room."

"Y-yeah, I guess it is a pretty n-nice room." What an aimless conversation this was. It was made depressing by my staggered voice.

My father sighed; disgusted that we were just avoiding the real reason we were here. "Look Jasper, the Hunger Games are… brutal. I've seen you shake in fear just watching the games. You're a kind hearted soul, but the Hunger Games just chew kind hearted souls up and spit them out. To put it blatantly the escorts are quiet wrong; the odds are definitely _not _in your favor. Just do your best, okay?"

"Yes father… I'll do my best."

Father looked at me and put his hand on the brim of his hat. "Jasper, I want you to take my hat."

"No father! You've had that old thing forever and you know they won't send it back in my... casket. You can still keep it!

"That don't matter really. It can sort of be a reminder to you from us. No, it's a reminder from everyone in District Eight. It's sure to be accepted, just keep it with you," my father said mournfully. He took off the hat and placed it snuggly on my head. I began to tear up.

With his lip quivering her placed his hand on my lower back. "I love you, son!" he bawled, getting me into a tight hug.

"I love you too, dad!" I was absolutely weeping now. I wrapped my hand around him. In one word that fits oddly yet seamlessly, I was relentless. I never wanted to let go, but I had to. About thirty seconds later a peacekeeper arrived and ushered him out. As soon as he left I had a pang of loneliness. Strangely I no longer felt sadness, just numbness.

A little after my father left a couple of peacekeepers arrived took me away to the train transit.

-*-

The train transit was swamped with government officials of all kind and a camera crew reporting on June and I. The train apparently was late because of an 'accident.' More than likely they were stopped by violent protesters. And if that was true then anyone on the scene, protester or bystander, was probably dead.

The train arrived with a speeding _wurr _as it came to sudden stop at the transit. The train was fast, very fast. They were also expensive and it was a hassle to get a permit to travel to another district or The Capitol. I never rode on one, but my father had a friend who was a maintenance man for some of the slower and older trains and let me on one. His status probably never granted him access to fix one of these speeding bullets. Everything seemed surreal, and the sadness set in again. I caressed my hat, and somehow that comforted me. Ahh father… I'm going to miss him.

I saw Chike step forward and herd June and I on onto the train. Behind her Eugene and Cortona came from a mass of people and boarded it. The doors snapped shut and the train began to lurch forward. I placed my face on the window, gazing out on the station. The silhouettes of people became faint in the titian glow of the sunset sun as the train gained speed. I turned around to see Chike eyeing me out for my strengths and weaknesses. As soon as she got a better feel of me she said cheerfully, "Well hello Jasper, and may the odds be in your favor!" That is when I knew I was truly on my own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Labyrinth Games**

-*-

**Chapter Three**

-*-

There wasn't much to see in District Eight. Near the urban area of District Eight there were a few trees, but nearly everywhere else was sparse and baron, just endless seas of amber colored long grain and occasional blotches of farmland. I was really bored of just mindlessly staring out, but I was scared to turn around and have to face everyone else. I was still scared to come to terms that I might- no, will compete in the Hunger Games just a few days. I was trying to stay in denial by telling myself lies that I will somehow be okay. I was simply scared.

But I had to return to reality eventually. I felt a light tap on my back about an hour into the train ride. I turned around to see Chike standing over my shoulder. In her fervent capitol accent she trilled, "Jasper, you can't stay secluded over here and stare out the window the whole trip. Get up, up, up and join the party!" Of course, Chike the cheery little shrew is making me become part of society. I knew I couldn't protest; I would have to coincide with all of these people until the games began so I can't do anything to make me an outcast. I stood and followed her to a long granite table where everyone else was seated and took a seat as far possible from anyone else, a fair compromise I believe.

A television hung on a wall by the other end of the table. The show on was a 'Reaping Day Recap Special' for the 'Pre Hunger Games Special' that came on every year. It was hosted by two sports analyst, since in a twisted sort of way it was a sport or at least made a sport by the Capitol, who talked about who was chosen and first impressions of every tribute along with their mock twelve-point scores they got just by a quick assessment of the video and background research. The scores were definitely subject to change as time went on and became official scores when the actual judges gave them. Since we were not required to watch the Pre Hunger Games Special I never did, but this year was different.

One man on the television with a ridiculous Capitol haircut leaned forward and said, "Now Dmitri and I will go over our top pick to win it all this year.

The other man on the television, Dmitri apparently, began to speak. "My top pick is Evander Fox, the seventeen year old District Eight tribute. Great athleticism and highly prepared. He has apparently been training for years in hand-to-hand and close combat. He's a good outdoorsman with good instincts. He also has fairly good camouflaging ability, a skill that is uncommon but very useful in the Hunger Games. My current score for him is eleven."

"Thank you Dmitri for that wonderful bit of information. But I am afraid I have to disagree. My favorite this year is District Two male tribute Dez Cutler, the oldest tribute this year at eighteen years, seven months, and twenty-three days. He is physically a brute and has good speed. An excellent outdoorsman and can handle any situation with ease."

"So what are you going to give him, Marcello?" Dmitri asked.

"I'm going to be bold and give him a twelve out of twelve," Marcello said in an audacious tone.

Dmitri sighed and huffed out, "I don't know, Marcello. He's second on my board at a high ten but twelve; that must seem pretty high to you."

"Cutler is one of the best tributes I've seen in years. I don't think he's overrated at all. In fact I would like to rank him higher, but that's not possible!"

"Alright then, let's move on to our underdog of the games. So Marcello, who'd ya' have?"

"Dahlia Slate, District Twelve female tribute," the screen suddenly switched to a video of the District Twelve reaping where presumably Dahlia looked rather brave and not that scared; not like me. Marcello's voice continued over the video. "You can immediately tell she's a fighter by the she stands and that look of confidence. And from her record it looks like she's an athlete. My score for her is an eight, but keep an eye on her."

"Mine is certainly a long shot, especially considering how recently the district won, but I'm gonna say District Eight tribute Jasper Cozine. He's a local track star and possibly has the best athleticism in these games. I'll give him an eight to match yours."

I couldn't believe what I just heard. I was giving myself no chance, but others were. Maybe, just maybe, I could survive. I became ecstatic, but stayed silent. Well, until Chike began to open that damn trap of hers.

"Well, looks like we got a little competitor on our hands Eugene and Cortona," Chike peeped at me in her always happy voice. Eugene seemed to snicker. Eugene is so full of himself; he's like and over grown ten year old.

"I don't know about that…" I muttered.

"Don't be so modest. Mr. Dmitri the sports analyst even said you showed promise. Well, tell me what you got, both of you."

"Uh, I guess I'm a little fast…" I did not want to give the bitch what she wanted by responding to her.

"You long distance or short?"

"Long, but I sometimes fill in for short." Why am I still responding?

Chike seemed to raise an eyebrow, "What your fasted mile?"

"5:07."

"Eugene and Cortona, any strategies he can use to employ this?" Chike snapped her fingers a couple times, almost as if to wake the two mentors up.

"With that skill you should keep moving so you elude all other enemy tributes, but don't go in a pattern or you'll sure to be caught by some smart trackers. If you keep moving this will allow you to stay alive longer and hone your skills. That's what I did," Cortona lectured.

"Yeah… umm, sure. What she said," muttered Eugene. He sure made a huge contribution!

"And let's not forget our June over here. So June, what are you good at?" Chike asked.

June snorted and replied with, "It doesn't matter I'm good at, I'm going to die anyway, why not die now?" How depressing, but horribly true. I didn't want to die now, but I knew probably would. June is such a downer.

"June, there's no need to be so negative about your situa-" Chike was cut off by June.

"It's true though! I probably have no chance, but neither does Jasper!" I suddenly realized what she was doing. She was trying to get the attention on her so the mentors would help her pathetic plight more and maximize her chance of surviving with her extra training. If I wanted an extra boost, I knew I had to play her game.

"You're right June. Why even try if," I stood up in a dramatic fashion, getting more attention, "we are probably going to fail. Of course training will better my chance, but it's still only delaying the inevitable."

Cortona was smart. She seemed to catch on with the little game I was playing and decided to play along, luckily in my favor. "Then we will help you Jasper. I wasn't sure I would win but," she drummed her fingers on the table, "I did."

Eugene was still clueless. "Well, I don't know if either of you have the talent I had, but our jobs are to help."

I flashed a look at Cortona to try and get her to help me. I did want extra attention, but not from Eugene. That would probably hurt my chances. She got the message and responded with, "I think June and Jasper should train separately. How about, oh I don't know, you train June and I got Jasper?"

"Well I think that's a wonderful idea. I do see quite a bit of resemblance between June and Eugene and Cortona and Jasper. How about all of you make chit chat and get to know each other until dinner arrives. So, chop chop!" Chike made a _click _noise with her heels and sauntered off into the kitchen, probably to the chefs complain for no apparent reason. Chike was a terrible escort, even for her first time.

Cortona moved over to the seat right in front of me. She put a finger in one of her curls and started twirling and stared at me, not saying anything. I guess she wanted me to speak first. After awhile I broke the silence and said, "All this seems kind of surreal."

She shook her head. "I know how you feel. I really doubted myself. I thought this was a nightmare at first, and I'm serious. I even closed my closed my eyes really tight and opened them like I was waking up on stage.

I started chuckling a bit. "I remember that, though I don't think I laughed then. I remember the capitol making fun of that too on a Pre Hunger Games special."

"See, the point is that you might doubt yourself and everything else happening, but keep some faith, okay?"

I paused and said, "Sure." Then after another awkward silence I decided to change the subject. "I guess thinks we need to strategize or something."

"Chike is not a mentor; she doesn't know anything about trying to teach a tribute. I'm sure she would get killed instantly if she ever competed. I can't do a lot of strategizing until I can get a better grasp on your strengths and weaknesses, Chike just doesn't understand that. Why don't we just… chat until dinner, 'kay?"

Cortona and I talked for a long while about almost everything. About life, about friends, about school, about family, and a little about the Hunger Games. Cortona was pretty nice and funny too. She was in my grade, but I never really talked to her. She was very popular, and not just because she won the games.

After awhile Chike came tip toeing out making a horrible _click clack _with her high heels. "Dinner's served!" She squealed. Immediately after tons of platters brimming with gorgeous looking food was placed on the table by the chefs.

-*-

I leaned back in my chair and placed my father's hat on my stomach. I couldn't believe how delectable that feast was. Every sauce perfectly complemented the dish, and every dish was amazing. Desert might have been the best part though. When they came out with the chocolate cake I almost lost it, and by the looks on Chike, Cortona, and Eugene's faces this was good even by their standards.

Eugene burped and declared, "That was sure one hell 'o a meal!" Cortona leaned across the table and elbowed him. He turned around and scowled at her.

"Well, tomorrow is a big, big, big day! You two better get to bed and rest up," Chike announced.

"Alright, I'm pretty tired anyway," I said. June just grunted in approval.

Chike clapped her hands three times. A couple of peace keepers arrived and helped me up and nudged me down a hall. When we came to a door one said, "In you go." I turned the knob and entered.

The room was actually not that impressive by what I've seen today. There was just a wardrobe, a television hanging on the wall, a night stand with a lamp on it, and a bed. I closed the door behind me and walked to the bed. Quickly, I ripped off my clothes, placed my hat on the foot of the bed, and plopped down onto the fluffy and comfortable sheets. I dug my way under them and put a pillow under my head. I was exhausted to say the least.

I closed my eyes briefly and when I opened them I felt a tear run out. That's when it really hit me. "I'm going to die," I said softly. "I'm going to die," I said again, this time louder. "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die!" I was hysterical now. "I'm going to die…" I whispered it the last time.

I was subconsciously aware of my evident death, but I didn't give it a whole lot of thought. I was mainly just thinking about how bad the games were. I began to cry. I thrashed my arm out, smacking it on the night stand. I began writhing around in the bed, sobbing, cursing, panicking, and quivering. Suddenly I swung my arm out to the foot of the bed and grabbed the hat. I stopped crying as soon as I felt it. I picked up and held it to my nose. One word came to mind, only one word, one word that made me feel alright. I closed my eyes and calmly opened my mouth slightly as if I was about to recite a speech. I whispered very faintly, "Father." I wrapped my arms around it and drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note: I know, a little boring, and once I get to the fifth chapter I'll go over all of the chapters so far and reedit it. Just stay with me, the next chapters won't be so boring. And just wait until I get to the games! This chapter was important however even though it was dull because you know have a better grasp on the character's personality and made it made them a little more three dimensional. So, adios until next time and keep reading. **

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